


Her Sweet Kiss

by SometimesRaven



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, GO GET THEM BACK, Jaskier | Dandelion Has Feelings, Multi, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Oblivious Bard, One Shot, POV Third Person, Pining, Post-Break Up, Songfic, Unrequited Love, Yearning, because they both lovE YOU JASK
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:48:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26639854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SometimesRaven/pseuds/SometimesRaven
Summary: It was going to be a story. A beautiful story of longing and yearning and desire and forbidden lust. Instead, he found himself with a ballad of loss and heartache.In which Jaskier realises too late he is far more than jealous of Geralt and Yennefer.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 8
Kudos: 80





	Her Sweet Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> Set after Before A Fall because that episode breaks my damn HEART and so does this stupid fucking sONG UGH. 
> 
> The verse at the beginning is taken from glimpses of Jaskier's notebook where it looks like he's writing the first draft of the song which, as we know from hearing a little of it in the episode, was originally going to be far more bittersweet as opposed to just Bitter my poor bOY

> _If I were a man of more mettle,_  
>  _If I were a man of resolve,_  
>  _I’d leave you behind,_  
>  _Get my fair peace of mind,_  
>  _From a bottle of grain alcohol..._

It was supposed to be a story. A beautiful tale of love and lust and weakness for a man far beyond him. A beautiful, lovesick ballad with an ultimately happy ending. The witch was only supposed to be an obstacle: an object of jealousy to make his love all the stronger.   
But she wasn't, was she? Jaskier heaved a bitter laugh as he took a swig of his drink and scratched out the verse he'd penned only hours before. No need for that, now. The deed was done through no will of his own.

Perhaps Fate had decided enough was enough; decided to move his story roughly forward and violently away from his stupid, naïve obsession. What hope did he have with a man like Geralt? A man of mind and power born in battle and bloodshed had no need for a bumbling bard following blindly behind; why should he? Especially when he had _her_ to match his wit and strength in a way only women could.

 _Yennefer of Vengerberg._ The bloody witch who had stepped on Geralt's heart so many times and now-.. now she had torn them apart. Left each of them with nothing. What a fitting thing for a witch to do. The one monster Geralt could never defeat, so soft of skin and hair, her eyes so piercing a violet he could get lost in them...

He had hoped for a complex story of yearning and hope. This story was far more simple than that.

> _The story is this: she'll destroy with her sweet kiss._

He didn't bother putting it to paper as he carved the words crudely into the dimly-lit desk in this tired, creaking inn he'd found himself at, scoffing once again at the drama of it all. Once upon a time he'd have gone searching for that kind of drama - perhaps that was the sign this truly was his fault after all.

The song followed him from tavern to seedy tavern, plucking at his lute like he was possessed by the ghost of his heartbreak. He took every jeer and shout, every rock-hard loaf and rotten apple thrown his way. He barely even shed a tear when the shouts and requests dried to drown him out: _play the one about the Witcher! Yes, play the Witcher's song! The White Wolf! We want a song about the White Wolf!_

Oh, how little they knew.

* * *

Over time, blame and bitterness grew cold. The song he'd once sung with dark and bitter poison grew stale and dull; distant and all the more rife for mockery. He cared little about the whispers and the stares. _They say the bard lost someone, they do. Broke his heart, she did. Shame, really, his songs were just getting good._ He didn't care. He still heard whispers of happenings here and there; sightings of his White Wolf and tales of the Witch. Battles and bloodshed and all he cared for was nothing anymore. He scarcely wrote a song save for generic tunes about whatever bullshit war was happening now. His reputation meant nothing anymore if Geralt was not there to see it. To stare with that disapproving, brooding little frown but smile so soft when he thought his bard didn't see. 

His bard always saw. His bard lived for that smile from his grumpy, "emotionless" Witcher. Now what was there left?

He still saw that smile in his dreams, but now-.. now _she_ was there. He couldn't get her out of his mind. Those lips and those eyes and that perfect raven hair she'd let him touch if he was quiet for just a moment longer than he could bear. Her skin so soft and flawless, save for those scars-- oh, those scars. The ones he knew she didn't want him knowing about. The stories and pain and heartache behind those scars alone could fill a thousand books and he wanted to write them all. And Geralt would touch them and kiss them and she would touch his scars in return and then-- then Jaskier would feel the icy-cold hands of death around his throat once more but they would both be there, pulling him from the depths with caresses and kisses and effervescent touches and he would be _whole_ again, _Gods_ would he be whole.

And then he would wake up in sweat and shame, staring at another dirty ceiling in another dirty inn with no warmth, no comfort, no bitter and jealous words from a witch and no grunt of amusement from a Witcher. 

_Fuck._ The pit in his stomach Geralt had left only grew deeper by the day, only now-.. the longer he spent alone, the more he thought. And the more he thought, the more he found his thoughts drifting to _her._ Yennefer still brought rage and fear and bitter pain to his tongue, but if he thought for a moment past that - which he had _plenty_ of time to do - it was-..

_Fuck._

A new wave of heartache overcame him. The pit in his stomach grew emptier still. Darkness crept into his soul and took root in his chest until he felt as though he may never stir again. _He loved her._ He loved them both and he was too wrapped up in his bloody stories and ideals and dreams and petty whims to see it before. Yennefer of Vengerberg had stolen the heart he had so carefully kept in Geralt's possession and it wasn't _fair_ that he was seeing this _now._

When he next played, they said they saw a new fire in his eyes; heard a new pain in his voice. A new rage. _Next stage of grief,_ they'd say. _That girl must've really done a number on him._

Oh, how little they knew.

> _I’m **weak** my love, and I am wanting,  
>  _ _If this is the path I must trudge,_  
>  _I welcome my sentence,  
>  _ _Give to you my penance,  
>  _ _Garrotter, jury and judge..._


End file.
